The Diary of Patricia Brennan
by Dark Lady of the Circus
Summary: Harry finds a diary at headquarters that tells the story of the woman Sirius should have married and her best friend...who killed her. OOTPverse SBOC RLOC
1. What Is A Diary Doing Here?

A/N: I know, I said my next fic would be a phic, but I just had this awesome idea, so here we go!

* * *

Dinner at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, was usually a boisterous affair, especially with the Weasley twins able to do magic whenever they wanted. That night, however, dinner was unusually subdued. They had had a hard day, and just when they thought it was done, someone—Kreacher—had put some more malevolent items he had saved in the pantry and kitchen. Even Fred and George were calmer after having a near brush with a particularly potent Draught of Living Death pretending to be afternoon tea. 

The only sound in the room was forks clinking on plates when Harry asked the question that had been bothering him for several days. "Sirius, how come you never got married?"

All sounds came to a stop. Sirius choked on his butterbeer, coughing and spluttering. Lupin pounded on his back. Everyone looked at Sirius. When he had composed himself, he let out his short, barking laugh. 'Harry, I was in Azkaban."

"Yeah, but it wasn't like you walked out of Hogwarts and got chucked straight into prison," Harry pressed, not to be deterred. "My parents had time."

Sirius smiled, and then sighed. Tired lines appeared around his eyes and mouth, making him look years older. "I should have gotten married. There was this one girl. Beautiful, funny, charming, excellent witch. Her name was Cassandra."

"What happened?"

"She was killed. By one of Voldemort's followers. By her best friend, Patricia. Her _best friend_."

Now, for some reason, Lupin was looking sad, too.

"What happened to Patricia?" Ginny asked.

"She died in Azkaban," Lupin said dully. "She denied to her death that she killed Cassandra. I visited her once. That was all she could say, 'I didn't kill her.' If you told her often enough that you knew she was perfectly innocent, she would look at you in that way she had and say, 'Then why am I here?'"

Harry instantly regretted asking. He could feel that these two women had deeply affect Sirius and Lupin.

The rest of dinner was eaten in silence.

* * *

The next day, decontamination began with a sinister-looking chest of drawers that nearly had Ron's arm off. While everyone was occupied with Ron, Harry noticed something on the top of the dresser. It was a small, brown leather book, a little torn up, with 'Patricia Brennan' embossed on the cover in gold letters. Harry instantly pegged it as a diary, and something about the name on the cover seemed familiar. The penny dropped. Patricia, he realized. Patricia, the Death Eater. Even knowing this, Harry wasn't sure it was the _right _diary of the _right _Patricia. He opened it, and saw, taking up a full page, the words, 'Cassandra Trousdale is the best friend in the world.' Harry pocketed the diary and went to see to Ron, who was unscathed but still shaken. 

Later that night—much later, nearly ten o'clock—Ron cornered Harry in their room. "Thanks for helping me out, mate," he said, looking the part of wounded innocent. Harry merely thought he looked like a prat, but shrugged it off.

"Never mind," he said, pulling out the diary. "Look at this."

"You're keeping a journal?" Ron asked skeptically.

"It's not _mine_, it's Patricia Brennan's. You know," he continued at the blank expression on Ron's face, "the girl who killed Sirius' fiancée."

"Why would Sirius have a girl's diary in his house?"

"Why would Sirius have a dismembering dresser in his house?" Harry countered.

Ron opened his mouth to reply when Fred and George appeared—crack—waving Extendable Ears. "We think you should read it," George said.

"Get Hermione, then," Ron said. "She'll kill us if she misses this. Ginny, too."

Fred disappeared—crack—momentarily and returned—crack—with a sleepy-looking Ginny and Hermione. Harry didn't explain, just held the diary up. Hermione's mouth formed a small 'o,' and she whispered frantically to Ginny, whose mouth formed the same 'o' a second later.

George lounged on Ron's bed, pushing Ron to the floor. "So, Harry, read it."

Harry opened the diary. He wondered where to start, but picked fifth year. He had always wondered what a Death Eater was like at his age. "September first," he read. "I'm going back to Hogwarts again! My trunk is mostly unpacked, the Earl of Lichtenstein left droppings everywhere again—"

"What kind of name is the Earl of bloody Lichtenstein?" Ron demanded.

George raised an eyebrow. "What kind of name is Pigwidgeon?" he asked coolly. Ron's ears turned red.

"—the Earl of Lichtenstein left droppings everywhere again," Harry said firmly, "And the train leaves in two hours, but I'll make it. I always do. Gryffindor tower awaits."

"Wait!" Fred said. "This Death Eater was in Gryffindor? What's up with that. I thought that riffraff was only in Slytherin."

"I would hope Patricia wasn't in Slytherin," Hermione said.

"Why do you say that?"

"Never mind. Harry, continue," Hermione smirked.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Ginny asked, and the two started whispering furiously, then giggled in unison. "Harry, continue," Ginny said, smirking.

"I'll make it. I always do. Gryffindor tower awaits…"

* * *

Patricia looked at the disorderly mess that was her school trunk, and sighed. "Nothing for it, then," she muttered, and bellowed, "Mum!" 

Seconds later, a harassed-looking witch with short, dark hair and hazel eyes burst into the room. Patricia had always admired her mother. She was a strong single mother that still went by 'Mrs. Brennan' instead of 'Ms. Wilkes' even after the divorce, to lessen the scandal, for Patricia's sake. This admiration didn't keep her from exploiting her mother, though. Patricia looked at her trunk, and smiled expectantly at her mother.

She sighed. "Pack," she said, waving her wand exhaustedly, then sighed, "_Scourgify_," and the droppings vanished.

"Thanks, mum," Patricia said warmly, but Mrs. Brennan had already bustled out of the room to tend to one of the other ten things she had to do.

A couple of hours later—time having flown for Patricia, who read a smutty Muggle romance novel about a lost princess with amnesia—they were driving to King's Cross, the Earl of Lichtenstein's hoots drowning out Mrs. Brennan's customary worries.

"Bye, mum. I love you." She said, kissing Mrs. Brennan on the cheek and walking through the divider to Platform 9¾.


	2. She Likes Them More Bookish

A/N: Good morning, loves! I promise, the plot will be a lot easier to see in later chapters.

* * *

"What are you_ doing?_" Mrs. Weasley screeched, bustling through the door and seeing them all listening raptly to Harry. It was pushing eleven thirty at this point. 

"Mum, you won't believe what Harry's got!" Ginny said excitedly.

"And what has Harry got?" Mrs. Weasley asked, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"It's this diary," Harry said. "Of that Death Eater girl that killed Sirius' fiancée."

Mrs. Weasley abruptly turned on her heel and left. Harry shrugged and was about to continue reading when Mrs. Weasley reappeared with both Sirius and Lupin in tow. "These two need to hear this," she said, "but I am going to sleep." She bustled out again.

"Now what's this?" Sirius asked.

"Did you know that you had Patricia Brennan's diary in your house?" Hermione asked.

At the sound of the name, all color blanched from his face. His expression answered the question for him. "If I had, I would've destroyed it," he spat.

At this, Lupin, most unexpectedly, glared at him. "You would do no such thing, not while I have breath in my body."

Before the argument could escalate further, Harry raised his voice and continued reading.

* * *

Patricia looked around the platform for someone she knew. She saw the Marauders—sigh—looking at a curvy brunette. The brunette wasn't paying much attention, as the gorgeous chestnut owl she was holding was making an objection to _something_—probably being stuck in a cage. Patricia did a double take. She knew that owl. And she was pretty sure she knew that brunette. "Cassandra Elizabeth Trousdale!" she yelled over the hubbub of kids getting on the train. The brunette looked at her. 

"Patricia Irene Brennan!"

Their hug was more like a train crash. The Earl of Lichtenstein hooted angrily, as did Cassandra's owl, the Duke of Chesterfield.

"Cassandra, you look gorgeous! I didn't even recognize you! You've lost so much weight. And your haircut is stunning brill (A/N: Brilliant, for those not versed in Brit-slang). And," Patricia lowered her voice to a conspirational whisper, "Sirius was looking at you."

"Was not! And you look beautiful as always."

"Thank you, but no."

"You're lovely, Patricia. Anyway, Sirius. Really?"

Patricia nodded. "Gawping like a goldfish."

"My god, he's so good-looking. Those deep, dark eyes…I could drown in his eyes. And his hair is always perfect. _He's _just all-around perfect, n'est-ce pas?"

"He's all right," Patricia replied neutrally, trying not to blush.

Cassandra smirked. "Oh, yeah, you like them more bookish, don't you?"

Patricia was fighting a losing war against the fuchsia blush creeping up her face. "Shut up."

* * *

Hermione was smiling secretively at Lupin. Fred looked around, puzzled. "What did she mean, 'You like them more bookish'?" he demanded. Ginny shook her head. Boys were so slow sometimes. 

"Who knows," Lupin said, carefully expressionless. "Maybe Patricia will say something about it later."

Sirius smirked in unison with Hermione and Ginny. He knew how the story ended, with both these vibrant girls dead, but he couldn't help being taken in by their shortsighted antics.

Harry, along with Fred, George, and Ron, had no idea why Sirius and the girls looked so smug. He read more to disguise his puzzlement. "We lurked on the platform and talked and stuff, looking at the local wildlife, then the prime specimens got on the train, so we had to board as well. We spent the ride as we usually do—with frequent trips to the loo so we could spy into the Marauders' compartment. Cassandra nearly melted a hole in the wall when she tried some new spying spell she heard about so we could look through the wall at them…"

* * *

The ride up to the castle was business as usual. At the sorting, Patricia was amazed, as always. There were always three or four little firsties who looked exactly like she had when she was a firstie: awkward, with big, thick glasses, trying to smuggle a book into the Sorting because anything that didn't happen between two bindings was boring in the extreme. These three or four were inevitably sorted into Ravenclaw, where larger-sized specimens of the same cut welcomed them. Patricia had never figured out how she'd escaped that bottomless pit of geekiness and wound up in Gryffindor, but she was grateful that she had. She had met Cassandra—who had refused to leave Patricia alone until they were friends—the queen of all things beauty-related. Cassandra had made Patricia her project, transforming the awkward geek into…if not a beauty, at least adequate-looking. Under Cassandra's guidance, she'd discovered fashion—believe it or not, all black robes were not equal—contacts, and how to apply eyeliner in a straight line. She'd even grown, so her feet looked natural, instead of elephants attached to the end of her legs. Guys were still scared of her, though. Cassandra couldn't do anything about her personality defects. 

Dumbledore stood up before she could sink completely into a pool of self-pity. In the silence, Peter Pettigrew's stomach growled loudly. "Very well," Dumbledore said. "Let us eat. I will blather after we are satiated to the point of drowsiness."

"Guess what?" Patricia said as the food appeared. "I'm gonna eat until I can't move, and you'll have to roll me up to the tower."

"Not unless you look forward to sleeping with the Slytherins," Cassandra replied. "I'd just push you down the stairs."

"You're a great friend, love."

After dessert—Patricia had demolished three treacle tarts and met Cassandra halfway through a block of chocolate ice cream—Dumbledore regained the floor.

"Welcome back," he said, eyes twinkling. "It is a pleasure to see some many faces on the verge of nodding off on the table. Once again," his look took in the Marauders in particular. "The Forbidden Forest is named that for a reason, so if you do not wish to be dismembered by any one of a variety of unpleasant beasties, I would recommend giving the forest a wide berth. Also, Mr. Filch is growing frustrated with abuse of Mrs. Norris, so please decease hexing his cat." Again he seemed to be speaking to the Marauders, and then his eyes gave an unexpected twinkle. "Although many of the jinxes were quite creative, please find worthier targets. And that does not mean hex Mr. Filch himself.

"Now, I have one last topic to prattle about, before we all retire to bed. This Halloween, there will be a dance." He was drowned out by the excited whispers of knots of girls, Patricia and Cassandra included. He held up his hand. "This dance is regrettably only for fifth years and above and their dates. It will be a masquerade. That is all. Thank you."

In the exodus, Patricia and Cassandra dashed out of the Great Hall, stopping only to corner Remus Lupin, now a prefect, and demand the password. Less than two minutes later—pomegranates—they were consulting the bulletin board in the Gryffindor common room.

Cassandra laughed. "We have a Hogsmeade weekend the week before Halloween."

Patricia grinned. "Shopping!"

The weeks seemed to fly by, despite the inordinate amount of homework their teachers had piled on, preparing them for their O.W.Ls ("Why couldn't they find a better excuse? Exams are months away," Patricia wondered). Dating scandals ran wild, and tempers ran high. Sirius Black, in particular seemed to be in an increasingly…well…blacker mood as the masquerade got closer.

Patricia overheard him talking to James Potter in the corridor one day after Defense Against the Dark Arts. "What's your deal, mate?" James asked.

Sirius scowled. "I've had offers from bloody first years!" he exploded. Patricia immediately tracked down Cassandra and told her the great news—two weeks before the ball, Sirius Black was dateless.

Cassandra seemed more serene than usual. Usually she had at least five plans in the works to snag Sirius, but now was perfectly willing to let things take their course. "I just want him to be happy, even if he's not with me," she said.

Patricia raised an eyebrow. "Are you feverish?"

The Wednesday before their shopping trip Cassandra cornered Patricia in their room. "Who are you going with?" she demanded. Her friend had been unusually evasive on this subject.

Patricia sighed, seeming to deflate. "I'm going stag," she said. The words, "No one asked me," hung in the air, unsaid but there nonetheless.

"Then why were you so bloody secretive?" Cassandra demanded.

Patricia sighed again, seeming to deflate even further. "Well I didn't tell you in case someone asked—"

"_Someone_," Cassandra said, wiggling her eyebrows." You mean Re—"

"Shut _up!_" Patricia threw her pillow at Cassandra and hit her in the face.

"Patricia likes Remus!"

"Shut up!"

"Patricia _loves _him!"

"Shutupshutupshutup—"

"Patricia and Remus!"

"—shutupshutupshutup!"

Patricia's face was so red it looked like it was going to explode. She chased Cassandra around screaming, "Shut up!" but laughing at the same time. Cassandra laughed and taunted her friend, making her go even redder.

"Umm…" Lily Evans said quietly from the door, where she was flanked by Susan Paxley, Hogwarts' biggest gossip.

Cassandra had just proclaimed that Patricia and Remus were gonna get _married_. Patricia looked from Lily to Susan, who was smirking triumphantly at a new piece of gossip, and ran out of the room with a muffled wail.

Cassandra had instantly sobered. "It would mean a lot to her—to both of us—if you didn't tell," she said quietly, then walked out to look for her friend.

* * *

Harry lowered the diary. Everyone was looking at Lupin. 

"What?" he asked.

George was staring at Lupin, trying to figure out both what he looked like at fifteen and why any girl would be as obsessed with him as Patricia was.

Sirius laughed his barking laugh again. "Moony, you were quite the Casanova."

Lupin blushed almost as badly as Patricia.

* * *

A/N: Mwah. (that was the sound of me blowing you non-lesbian kisses.) I lahve you all, dahlings, so review to show how much you lahve me in return. 


	3. She's Louder than Moaning Myrtle

A/N: It's been an eternity and a half, but I've been grounded. I'm gonna have a blitzkrieg update this weekend. And I've just been reading some _amazing _fic from Vera Roberts and Queen of Kaos, and I realized that I'm gonna have to either skate around the snogging issue entirely or steal their scenes, something I could never do in good conscience. You see, I'm practically the Virgin Mary over here. It's awful. I'm trying to write romance fics, with absolutely no personal experience. Excuse me my rant, but that's why I'll be doing a lot of skating in the future.

Patricia was in the second floor toilet, making more racket than Moaning Myrtle on most days, when Cassandra found her. "Leave—me—alone!" Patricia sobbed.

"Oh, honey…" Never had Cassandra been more out of her element. Thankfully, Patricia only wanted a listening ear.

"Now—that—horrid—S-s-susan—'ll—tell—everyone—and—then—he'll—n-n-never—talk—to—me!" she wailed.

Cassandra didn't know what to say to this. This was exactly what she'd think if someone found out she liked Sirius. So she made comforting noises and brushed Patricia's brown hair out of her eyes.

Patricia sobbed long and hard. She had had a secret crush on Remus since Christmas of first year, when they both stayed at Hogwarts—and were the only Gryffindors there. Patricia had stayed because her parents were going through a nasty divorce and custody battle, and Mrs. Brennan thought that it would be best if Patricia wasn't there. She never found out why Remus stayed. He had a good, stable family as far as she knew. Either way, he had helped her with a wicked Transfiguration, and she had assisted him with a particularly vicious History of Magic essay. When his friends had returned, their fledgling friendship had died a terrible death, but she had had a soft spot for him ever since. Now, with Susan exposing that, she felt like an era was ending.

When she'd cried herself out, Patricia told Cassandra to go to dinner. "I'll be fine," she insisted.

Cassandra was loath to leave her friend, but saw no choice. Patricia was practically pushing her out the door.

Patricia didn't go to dinner. She wasn't hungry, anyway, and she didn't want to risk seeing Remus, or hearing the gossip circulating about her. Instead, she sat in a chair facing the portrait hole and started her homework—two rolls of parchment on antidotes for Potions, translations for Ancient Runes, practice for Transfiguration, and essays for DADA, COMC, and Charms. She sighed and started the Potions essay, rambling on about how most of the pain of antidote brewing could be solved by carrying a bezoar in the pocket of one's robes. Lily would hate Patricia for getting better marks than she did, but Patricia was dismal at practical potions—her essays were the only things keeping her afloat. Two rolls of parchment later—including a poem about a sad little goat whose stomach stones were so pathetic they only cured three parts of a five-part poison, she was done. Hopefully it would make Professor Slughorn laugh and forget about her dismal Strengthening Solution. "It would strengthen you," she had defended her potion which was vaguely the consistency of tar and smelled like burned socks. "If you managed to survive, you'd be quite strong indeed."

People were starting to return. When a third year she didn't like walked by, she Transfigured his robes into a badger. As he ran screaming up the stairs, she decided that she'd practiced enough, and got out more parchment for the ten inches on How to Not Get Mauled By a Hippogriff. This essay was the third in a series. For How Not to Get Mauled By a Chimera, Patricia had written, "Run away," in great, sprawling writing.

Patricia had dipped her quill to begin her essay when the portrait hole swung open, and who should enter but the Marauders. With a haughty glare at Sirius—well justified, in her mind, for not going out with Cassandra—and a longing look at Remus, she slammed her books shut and stormed up her staircase.

"What's her deal, mate?" James asked Sirius, who had almost blistered from her scathing look.

"No idea."

Patricia was nearly done with her COMC essay—on her bed with her curtains shut—when she heard two people enter—Lily and Susan, by the sound of them.

"So why didn't you tell?" Lily asked. "You could've had the whole school buzzing—pathetic geek fancies Marauder."

Patricia's blood reversed direction in her veins, just as she had the urge to rip all of Lily's precious red hair out by hand. They _hadn't _shouted the news from the rooftops?

"I dunno," said Susan. "I just didn't feel like it. She's got enough problems _without _bursting into tears every time she sees Remus."

"Yeah," Lily replied. "But did you see James tonight?"

"Drooling over you like a lost puppy. It's pathetic…"

Patricia couldn't care less about James and his famed interest in Lily. Her insides were doing a jig—the hornpipe, if she wasn't mistaken.

Her heart sang along as she started her DADA essay.

"Who was Susan Paxley?" Sirius asked blankly.

"You remember," Lupin prompted. "Susan the Conquerer."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Susan the Conquerer?"

"She dated nearly every boy in the school trying to make Sirius jealous," Lupin explained.

"Oh, yeah, her," Sirius said, finally bringing the dusty old memory to light. "Her nose was too big."

"Wow, Sirius, that's not rude at all," Ginny drawled. "She could really help _that_."


	4. Masquerade!

Before she knew it, Patricia was getting ready for the masquerade. Cassandra was nowhere in sight—she hadn't been seen for hours—so Patricia was forced to make herself beautiful on her own.

Patricia and Cassandra's shopping trip had been weird, and although Patricia had found some beautiful stuff, Cassandra hadn't bought anything. Whenever Patricia would hold something up and coo, "Oh, this would look so gorgeous on you," Cassandra would put it back and reply, "I've already got that."

Patricia looked around her empty room helplessly. She was having issues with her dress, and no one else was around. _Who in their right mind would put microscopic hooks all the way down the back?_ Patricia wondered. Eventually, she got the dress on, but panicked when she saw the clock. She only had twenty minutes to be down in the Great Hall. She combed her disobedient brown hair straight, then put half of it up. Satisfied, she did her eye makeup and stepped into her heels—not to high, mind you, for at 5'7", Patricia already towered over most of the fifth year girls. She slipped on her mask and took one last glance in the mirror.

She was satisfied with what she saw. Her blue eyes glinted mysteriously from behind the mask, and her natural blonde highlights sparkled in the dimly lit room. She knew they'd glint furiously in the bright Great Hall. She grinned, and surveyed the rest of her.

Her dress was green velvet with long sleeves that widened at the bottom and stopped midway over her hands. The dress had a large neck, and she she'd had any signfivant bassomas, she would worry about them falling out. It laced up the back and fell to her ankles. The entire thing had a very celestial feel, like JRR Tolkein's elves. Her mask was green and adorned with fake ivy and white cloth roses, adding to the foresty air. Rhinestones around the eyeholes made her eyes seem to tilt up at the corners. If someone told her in her first year that she would be wearing heels and looking like a wood nymph by her fifth, she would have recommended that they try a course of Shock Spells at St. Mungo's.

The common room was filled with boys waiting for their dates. None of them were masked yet, so Patricia created a minor stir. She smiled. Nothing like that had ever happened to her before, and her self-esteem was soaring.

"It's gotta be Lily," she heard James saying from the corner. "No one else could look that good."

"It can't be, you idiot," Sirius replied. "The hair color's wrong."

Patricia's smile grew.

Patricia's smile had faded by the end of the night. She had no idea what was wrong with her, but something obviously was. Not one guy—especially not Remus—had asked her to dance. She had tried every trick she knew. She had lingered by the Marauders—three tall and thin boys and one short and fat one, pretty hard to miss—looking attractive, she had danced with another girl to look like she was having a good time, and a bevy of other things. Finally, she just sat on the sidelines with a glass of punch to watch. She saw Angela Zabini having a tiff with her date and being comforted by three other guys. She saw Anika Mentreddy burst into tears and run sobbing out of the Great Hall. She saw many of these little dramas, but the most important by far, she saw Sirius dancing the night away with a tall girl in white. She crossed her fingers and hoped that the 5'3 Cassandra didn't notice.

Two hours before the ball was supposed to end, Patricia gave up and trudged back to Gryffindor tower, pulling her mask off as she went. She entered her room, mind fixed on Transfiguration homework she'd been blowing off all week, when she heard sobbing. Susan lay on her bed, crying her eyes out.

Patricia's own eyes widened. She looked like a deer caught in car headlights. "What's…wrong?" she asked uncertainly.

At first Susan ignored her, but when Patricia sat on the corner of Susan's bed and repeated, "What's wrong?" Susan looked up.

"Sirius," she whimpered, and put her head back in her pillow.

Susan was an attractive blonde, with looks stopping just short of true beauty. She had had many boyfriends, even dating a seventh year during September, but everyone—except the boys she dated, apparently—knew that she just dated them to make Sirius jealous. Sirius had never looked twice at her.

"What happened with Sirius?" Patricia asked. He really needed to stop being such a ladykiller, in her opinion. Many, many girls were sick to death of mopping up after he broke someone's heart.

"I heard him talking about me," Susan said, trying to compose herself. "He-he said that if my nose was any bigger, I'd have to carry it around i-in-in a-a _wheelbarrow!_" Anything else she was going to say was drowned in a sob.

"Ok, that's it, I'm going to say words to him," Patricia said, standing up, eyes steely.

"No…don't…"

Patricia stood up, tense with righteous anger. "I'm sick of this guy hurting my friends. I am going to go say words to him." Patricia stalked out, back down to the common room.

"I'm your friend…?"

Patricia sat down in the common room, and waited for Sirius. Sure, behind closed doors she and Susan might despise each other, but they had to present an unbroken front to any male who fancied messing with them.

Eventually, Patricia was starting to nod off—it was near two—when the portrait hole swung open. She had watched the painting swing back and forth for hours, but this was finally the swing she'd been waiting for. Sirius entered, with the tall girl, who gave him a quick kiss and ran up her tower steps.

Sirius watched her until she disappeared, then turned to go up his won staircase, only to find his way blocked by Patricia. Her arms were crossed, her blue eyes like ice, her mouth curled into a bitter imitation of a smile.

"Have you seen any wheelbarrows around lately?" she spat. "Because apparently Susan needs to borrow one."

Sirius had not had time to register what she said before she was in his face, invading his space, poking him in the chest.

"Now you listen to me, Sirius Black," she said, beginning to build up a head of steam. "All those girls you date, even the ones you don't date, the ones who just moon over you for their entire lives, you break their hearts, Every single one of them. And all their friends, they're sick of picking up the pieces because you're an insensitive bastard! You wouldn't know a decent girl if she slapped you across the face."

She slapped him across the face.

Patricia had managed to surprise him. His head snapped to the side and he took an involuntary step backwards. A second later, however, he was cool, calm, collected Sirius, running his hand through his hair with raised eyebrows. "So what now?" he asked. "Am I supposed to come to my senses, take you in my arms, and declare my undying love for you, because you whacked me?"

She looked him up and down slowly, then spat, "I would rather carve out my own intestines and eat them," and brushed past him up to her room.

"So how come you never told us about this, mate?" Lupin asked, lapsing back into his Hogwarts slang, to Sirius' amusement.

Sirius shrugged. "Didn't seem important. She's obsessed with you, she smacks me, same thing."

Harry smiled at the two's antics. For as long as he'd known them, they'd been mostly doom and gloom. It was refreshing to see how they'd been as Marauders, even though he knew that by the end of the diary they would both me gloomy once again, like at the previous night's dinner.

"Slapping you and being obsessed with Lupin is _not _the same thing, Sirius!" Hermione said hotly.

"Whatever," said Sirius lazily, sprawling on Ron's bed, pushing George to the floor, where he landed on Ron.


	5. Snogging

From Halloween until Christmas, nothing major happened, except that Patricia saw a lot less of her best friend. She didn't really notice, though. She was struggling mightily to stay vaguely on top of her homework—and failing. She wrote her mother that she'd be staying at Hogwarts over the holidays to catch up on her homework. Mrs. Brennan's reply was, "Well, what are you wasting time writing me for? Go! Work! I love you, Mum."

Patricia was the only Gryffindor staying, and had free run of the tower. "It was cozier when Remus was here," she told the dinner plate she was desperately trying to turn orange for Charms. It had decided it liked turquoise better, and was quite a stubborn dinner plate.

When the other students returned, the plate was still blue, though all of her other homework was done. Well…except for the long essay on how she managed to turn the plate orange. She started on the essay, making up things as she went, since she obviously hadn't yet actually turned the plate orange. The common room grew emptier and emptier.

By one, Patricia thought that she was the only person left, and stretched, wincing as her back popped.

Then she saw Remus, bend over, nose about an inch from his parchment, quill skittering rapidly across the page.

She inwardly shrugged, thinking, _What have I got to lose?_ and walked over and sat next to him. "Help me," she said, pleading in her eyes.

"If you'll help me," he replied, not looking up. "What do you need?"

Patricia plopped the plate onto his essay. "How do I turn this orange?"

"It's quite simple. You just…" Patricia's eyes glazed over. "…and then it turns orange."

"Sounds good," Patricia said vaguely.

"You understand?"

"Yep."

"I was thinking of maybe jumping off of the North Tower tomorrow."

"Great."

"Were you listening to a word I was saying?"

It was too late. Maybe it was Patricia's sleep-high talking, but it was far too late to know how to flirt. All the coquettish games Cassandra taught her had flown out of her head, being this close to Remus. So she decided to be blunt and truthful—what a concept. "No, I was watching your mouth move."

"Oh, really?" Remus asked, a mischievous twinkle in his usually placid eyes.

Patricia never figured out how to turn the plate orange.

Ron scooted away from Lupin.

"Oh, my God, you are so immature!" Hermione said, exasperated. "Snogging is nothing to be ashamed about."

"Yeah, just cause you've never done it…" Fred said.

"Doesn't mean it's something nasty," George finished.

Ron gulped. "So you've all…snogged…?"

"I haven't," Harry volunteered. He didn't feel that the time was right for him to mention that he would happily snog Cho if the opportunity arose.

Ginny didn't meet Ron's eyes.

"Ay!" Ron said. "Don't' tell me my little sister has been…snogging." 'Snogging' came out strained, like it was causing physical pain to say the word.

"Fine, then I won't tell you," Ginny said, then whispered with Hermione something involving the word 'tongues.'

Ron turned a pale shade of green.

Lupin and Sirius smirked at each other. They knew that there would come a day when Ron got his first girlfriend and wouldn't be able to _stop _snogging her.

The only difference was, with Sirius, that day came in the middle of second year.

"Keep reading, Harry," Lupin said with a broad smile. As Harry read from this diary, he was beginning to feel like the hot-blooded teenager he had been.

Harry scanned the page and his eyes bulged. As a credit to his bravery, he tried to read anyway. "December 30th. Remus and I snogged all last night. He makes me feel so beautiful…. I can't do this. Hermione, you're a girl, you read."

Hermione looked horrified. "Absolutely not! Professor Lupin was my _teacher!_"

"I'll do it," George said.

"Why?" asked Fred, sounding scandalized but not really meaning it. He figured his twin had something up his sleeve, and prepared to play along.

"Well, you know my feelings for Lupin here have always been…deeper…than the mere student-teacher relationship…"

"Now George," Fred jumped in. "I know we've never fought over any girl…"

"Or any boy…"

"Or any boy," Fred allowed. "But I think you should reconsider. You know I told you of my…feelings…for Lupin before you even knew you had them."

"You-you can't be serious," Ron spluttered. "You-you _can't _be."

"And whyever not?" asked George, arching one eyebrow.

"Of course we're joking you great twit!" Fred said.

Sirius was racked with silent laughter, and Harry had joined Ron in the wanting to puke category. "I'll read the diary now…" he managed to stammer out while suppressing his upchuck reflex.


	6. Cassandra Elizabeth Trousdale

Patricia and Remus decided to keep their relationship secret, at least for a little while. This limited their snogging to late at night when the common room was empty, but neither of them minded. Consequently, though, Patricia saw even less of Cassandra. Se suspected that their separation wasn't only Patricia's doing—that Cassandra was hiding something, too.

One stormy day in January, Patricia was—surprise, surprise—doing homework, when she ran out of ink. She decided to borrow some from Cassandra, and scurried up the stairs. She opened Cassandra's trunk, knowing that she didn't keep ink in her bag after an unfortunate incident in their third year.

She was rummaging through the typical Gryffindor's jumble of black, gold, and scarlet when she saw a flash of white. Curiosity piqued, she fished out the white spot. It was a white strappy sandal, with heels that were at least four inches tall. Something about this show felt familiar. In a flash, it came to her…Sirius dancing the night away with a tall girl in white. "Cassandra Elizabeth Trousdale," she muttered with grudging respect.

"What?" Cassandra asked from behind her. "Why are you in my stuff?" her voice grew more shrill.

"Relax!" Patricia said, turning to her friend. "I was looking for some ink! But this…how could you snag Sirius Black and not tell me?"

"If you haven't noticed, you've been off in your own little world yourself! Always down in the common room or who know where else—"

"In the library. I've been in the _library_," Patricia interrupted quietly. "I, for one, happen to care about not flunking out of Hogwarts."

"So you think I don't care?" Cassandra asked, sounding nearly hysterical. "You think that I don't care, just because you only _wish _you could have a boyfriend as good as mine?"

"Remember what you said when you first started fancying Sirius?" Patricia asked, her voice still quiet. "You said, 'Don't worry. We're _best friends_. Sirius isn't going to change that.' Silly me, for thinking it was true." She dropped the shoe and went back downstairs.

She borrowed ink from Remus. As she filled in an astronomy chart about the phases of the moon, she was already regretting her words. She hoped that Cassandra would forgive her, but something told her that her friend wouldn't, at least not immediately. She worried and fretted and her thoughts went round and round, and she didn't even realize that she was mislabeling her chart until a soft voice asked, "Are you sure you want to do that?"

"Do what?" Patricia asked in that vague voice that meant her thoughts were a million miles away.

"You've marked the full moon down four times," Remus remarked. "I didn't think you wanted to do that."

Patricia stared at her chart, and a moment later it swam into focus. "Oh! Oops. And I've put the crescents going the wrong way. Sinistra would have my head."

As she frantically corrected her lunar chart, Remus looked at her, smirking. "You know, there's no one else down here…"

Cassandra walked down the hall. She noticed that she was in the Arithmacy department, but that didn't matter. She could see Sirius at the end of the hallway. When she got to him, she jumped into her arms. He twirled her around, kissing her thoroughly. When her feet touched the ground again, her read was spinning.

Not spinning enough, however, that she could miss the empty, detached look in his eyes.

Sirius thrust his hands into his pockets. "Cassandra, I can't do this any more."

"Do what?" she asked, puzzled.

He gestured around vaguely. "_This_. This whole being together thing."

Cassandra's jaw dropped, and she felt like her heard was being ripped out of her chest. Her worst nightmare was coming true. "You're dumping me?" The words came out as a whisper. There seemed to be something in her throat, and she couldn't speak.

"Cassandra, I never liked you much anyway. You aren't that pretty, and your personality isn't that endearing. I only dated you because I felt sorry for you."

"You're lying," Cassandra whispered.

Cassandra sat up breathing hard. Just a dream. _It was only a dream_, she thought. She glanced over at Patricia's bed. The curtains were open, and the bed was empty. The clock read 2:30. _This is getting ridiculous,_ Cassandra thought. _She's coming to bed if I have to drag her._

Cassandra got out of her own bed and crept out of the dorm and down the stairs. The common room was empty. No Patricia. Then Cassandra noticed Remus lying on a sofa. Why would Remus be lying on his face on a sofa? It was bound to be uncomfortable. Then Cassandra noticed that Remus was lying on top of Patricia and they were snogging like there was no tomorrow. Cassandra cleared her throat loudly.

Remus jumped so badly that he fell of the sofa. Patricia sat up smiling, and ran a hand through her hair. "You're up late," she said to Cassandra.

"And you're not? Geez, Patricia! Is this what you've been doing when you said you were studying?" Cassandra was so flustered that she forgot that she and Patricia were fighting.

Patricia smirked. "Only on Wednesdays."

"Today's Tuesday."

Patricia shrugged. She had really expected her secret relationship to remain secret for long, especially after she found out about Sirius. She looked down. "Remus, what are you doing on the floor? Remember last time we tried that? Both of us had carpet burns for a week."

Cassandra's eyes widened, and she tried to say something that wasn't bristling with innuendo. "So why didn't you tell anybody?" Cassandra asked.

"Why didn't _you _tell anybody?" Patricia countered.

"What's going on?" Remus asked, hauling himself back onto the couch. Patricia put her arm around her boyfriend's waist.

"Cassandra here has been seeing Sirius for…how long?"

"Three months, tomorrow. Answer the question, Patricia."

"We didn't want to start going out and tell everyone and then break up a week later. It'd be awful."

Cassandra nodded. "That's what Sirius and I thought. But he and I don't carry on like this."

"Yes, it s a bit hard to lie down in broom closets," Patricia said wickedly.

"Patricia Irene Brennan!"

"Cassandra Elizabeth Trousdale."

"What?"

"Can you go back upstairs? Remus and I want to snog some more."


	7. The Badger Rides Again

The next day Patricia groaned when she saw they had double Transfiguration. "I'm gonna die," she said to Cassandra.

"It's not _that _hard," Cassandra said, trying to be comforting.

"Maybe not for you. You're brilliant with a wand," Patricia said, decidedly not comforted.

"And you're brilliant with a quill. You got, what, 106 on the Binns exam last year?"

"Thanks, Cass, but wizarding is about doing _magic_. You know, with a _wand_. If I just wanted to write I could've stayed a Muggle."

"Patricia, quit whining and have some waffles. See? I put butter in all the little holes."

"You're a doll."

"I know."

"And humble, too. I'm amazed."

Despite the waffles with butter in all the little holes, double Transfiguration was as awful as Patricia had predicted.

"Miss Brennan," Professor McGonagall said in her most no-nonsense voice. "I believe I have assigned you extra practice every lesson since near Halloween. Why has there been no progress?"

"I don't know, Professor. I practice. I really do."

Professor McGonagall swept her pointed black hat off her head and set it in front of Patricia. "Transform this into the animal of your choice," she instructed.

Patricia smiled. "I can do clothes into animals," she muttered. A moment later, a badger sat on the table before her.

"Now Vanish the badger."

Patricia sighed, and looked up. "I can't do that, Professor."

Professor McGonagall's eyebrows compressed. "And why not, Miss Brennan?"

"Well, ma'am, I wouldn't be able to Vanish more than a little of him, and I don't want to hurt this fellow." She held the badger to her protectively.

"Very well, Miss Brennan. See me at seven thirty tonight, in my office."

"Yes, Professor."

The rest of the lesson was all right, but whenever Professor McGonagall looked at her, Patricia felt an ache in the place where she kept her pride.

After class, she walked straight to Remus. "Hug me," she said. She laid her head on his chest, and they just stood there, letting the tide of other students wash around them. Then they were rudely interrupted by Raven Sullivan-Draka. Raven was a Hufflepuff third year, and the reigning Princess of Gossip. She was surpassed only by Queen Susan. Rumor had it that she had a flow chart in her room with everyone at Hogwarts and how they related to each other on it.

"So are you a couple now?" she demanded.

Patricia turned her head to look at Raven. "A couple?" she asked. "That's ludicrous. We're _friends_. This is a _friendly _hug." She smiled at Remus. She didn't mean it.

"You're blocking traffic with your 'friendly hug.' That's an obvious sign that you're a couple."

"No, Raven. Actually, _this_ is an obvious sign that we're a couple," Remus said, that wicked gleam back in his eyes.

Then he kissed her.

Never, in Hogwarts history, had the flow of students in the corridor been so completely stopped. However, Hogwarts students are a hearty lot, and even when something does shock them into silence, the silence doesn't last very long. Whispers broke out almost immediately, with Raven at the center of the torrent of gossip.

"I'll see you at lunch," Patricia grinned. She thought that anyone who paid that much attention to who she was dating needed some good therapy. "I'm gonna go catch up to Cassandra."

Remus grinned in return and ambled off to catch up to James, Sirius, and Peter.

"Where were you, mate?" James asked.

Remus smirked. "I was snogging my girlfriend."

"It was _you _who caused that stop in the corridor?" Peter asked, suitably awed.

"Who's your girlfriend, Moony?" Sirius asked.

Before Remus could answer, however, Sirius was distracted by Cassandra. He smiled knowingly as Sirius blatantly eavesdropped.

"God, Patricia, where have you been? You just disappeared after class!" Cassandra was saying to Patricia.

"_I _was snogging my _boyfriend_."

"Did you and Remus find a broom closet?"

"No, the other boyfriend," Patricia drawled. "And it wasn't in a broom closet. That's yours and Sirius' territory, remember."

Cassandra's face reddened. "Shut up. He's right over there."

"I know."

"Can we please skip this part?" Ron asked, greener than ever.

"Aww," Fred cooed. "Does the snogging upset ickle Ronnie?"

"Shut up. It's just that…nothing's happening." He smiled to himself. It sounded like a plausible lie.

Lupin put his hands behind his head. "I'm enjoying this."

"Snogging," George said to Ron. "Snog, snogger, snoggee, snogged,"

"_Shut up!_" Ron said loudly.

"Harry," said Hermione coolly. "Read more of the diary. It'll shut immature people up.


	8. Snogging, Pt 2

The rest of the day slid by, much to Patricia's dismay, especially when she revieced a note from Professor McGonagall telling her to bring all her schoolbooks with her that evening.

Patricia was slightly cheered that Sirius and Cassandra had put on a bit of a show, and now everyone knew _they _were together, too. It was good not to have any secrets.

At dinner, despite sitting with Cassandra and the Marauders, Patricia felt like she was going to her death. Consequently, she bolted anything in reach.

"Relax," Cassandra said, prying Patricia's fourth helping of ham away. "This isn't your last meal."

"Easy for you to say," Patricia retorted, "Professor McGonagall didn't ask _you_ to come to a private meeting and bring all your books. Give that back. I love Hogwarts' ham."

At seven fifteen, Patricia said goodbye to her friends and snogged Remus, then headed to Professor McGonagall's office, lugging a bag that felt like it weighed two hundred pounds.

As she walked, she stewed over everything, making up scenarios in her head, each one worse than the last, making herself moe and more nervous. When she arrived at Professor McGonagall's office, her face was white, her blue eyes the size of dinner plates, her hands shook, and her bottom lip had rather deep tooth marks in it.

"Come in, sit down, and do stop trembling. I won't hut you," Professor McGonagall said impatiently.

Patricia dropped into the chair across from Professor McGonagall and waited.

Professor McGonagall took a file folder out from under a pile of papers. The tab read Brennan, Patricia. "Miss Brennan," she said, "You and I would normally be having this meeting later in the year, but I felt that yours needed to be moved up. Have you considred what you might want to do after Hogwarts?"

Patricia was expecting to be read the riot act and tossed out on her rear, not asked what she wanted to be when she grew up. "Erm…"

Professor McGonagall waited for her to gather her thoughts.

"Erm, well, I want to do something with writing. Really I want…" her voice grew sheepish, as if she felt silly for saying it aloud, "I want to, maybe, if I could get permission, revise Madam Bagshot's _A History of Magic_."

"Well, Professor Binns does say that you show promise," said Professor McGonagall slowly. "He says you are his best student for seventy years, when he taught Madam Bagshot herself."

Patricia beamed.

"Let me see your copy of _A History of Magic_," Professor McGonagall commanded.

Patricia put her book on the desk. "Promise you won't be mad."

Professor McGonagall opened the book and raised her eyebrows. There was not a square inch of white left anywhere. The book was filled with Patricia's edits, rephrasings, and additions.

"Madam Pince saw me with it once…" Patricia winced. She had had the bruises for two weeks.

"Very well, Miss Brennan. You are dismissed. We will speak of this more closer to the exams."

"Thank you, Professor," Patricia said, scurrying out as fast as her feet would carry her. She knew that Professor McGonagall was tough but fair, but Patricia was still terrified of her.

When she got back to the common room, she was greeted by the commonest sight of all—Remus bent over some essay. Patricia sighed, and dropped her bag on the table he was working at to get his attention.

Remus jumped and squeaked a little.

"You're cute. Now what are you working on?"

Remus mumbled something.

"Dearie, my hearing's not what it used to be. What was that?" Patricia asked in a cracked, old-lady voice.

"Goblin wars," Remus said.

Patricia scanned the essay. "You've got more than enough information. Round it off with a nice, 'And the wars were pretty useless because neither side actually won anything.'"

"But I've got three more inches to fill!"

Patricia shrugged. "Write in big letters, then."

Remus looked at her suspiciously, although there was a hint of a smirk at one corner of his moth. "You just want me to finish so we can snog."

"Yeah. And?"

"I'm finished."

All the firsties, and most of the second years, ran screaming for cover.


	9. The Letter

A/N: Sorry for the long hiatus. I really have no excuse, so if you can bear to forgive me, here's the next chapter.

* * *

The weeks of term slipped by. Cold, snog-filled winter days gave way to warmish, snog-filled spring days. Remus, Patricia, Sirius, and Cassandra all racked up their share of detentions. For some reason, "I'm sorry, Profesor, I was too busy snogging to do my assignment," was not an acceptable answer. However, despite the detentions and ever-mounting pile of homework, life went pretty well.

Then something horrible happened.

Exams.

At the traditional Career Advice for the fifth years with their Head of House, Auror was by far the most popular among Gryffindors. It got to the point where Professor McGonagall put away all the leaflets besides the Auror one.

"So, what'd she say to you, mate?" Sirius asked James at dinner.

James looked glum. "She said I might have a chance, but I need Potions help." He glanced longingly at Lily, famed for her Potions brilliance. "How 'bout you, Wormtail?"

Peter shook his head.

"Well, you can always train security trolls," Patricia remarked wryly.

"She said my magic ought to be fine, but I'd have trouble with the character tests."

"Now, why on earth would that be?" Cassandra smirked, and Patricia laughed.

* * *

"What's up?" Fred asked. "Why'd you stop?"

"There's nothing," said Harry. "There's a load of pages torn out, see?" He held up the book, where a good half-inch of binding was exposed. He waved the book, as if he was hoping that the missing pages would appear. A folded piece of paper fluttered out of the diary.

Lupin picked it up. "Patricia's O.W.L.'s. And Cassandra's are on here, too."

"I remember _that_," Sirius laughed. "Cassandra was mad for weeks."

Remus passed the sheet around to everyone, and was amused to not that only he and Hermione could read Patrica's miniscule script.

For Patricia,

Ancient Runes-E

Astronomy-A

Arithmancy-E

Care of Magical Creatures-A

Charms-P

Defense Against the Dark Arts-A

Herbology-A

History of Magic-O

Potions-P

Transfiguration-D

Cassandra had fared slightly better at the exams. Her grades ran,

Astronomy-E

Care of Magical Creatures-E

Charms-O

Defense Against the Dark Arts-O

Divination-E

Herbology-E

History of Magic-P

Potions-E

Transfiguration-O

"So why was Cassandra in a swot?" asked George.

"Yeah, she ought to see our O.W.L. grades," agreed Fred.

"Well, _obviously_," said Ginny with an eye roll, "Cassandra _cared_. Cassandra wanted perfect grades. Or at least to Exceed Expectations in everything. And a P in History…"

"It was more that Patricia got an O, when Patricia didn't care. At all," said Sirius. "Once Cassandra got over it, it was actually hilarious. Patricia had almost no classes. Remember?"

Lupin smiled at the memory. "Yeah. Slughorn wouldn't take her, Sprout wouldn't take her, Sinistra would take her, whoever was teaching Defense that year, I don't even remember, well, they wouldn't take her…"

"And do you remember that vein twitching in McGonagall's eye when she did Patricia's schedule?"

* * *

"What now?" Cassandra asked.

"Hmm?" Patricia looked up from her old History of Magic textbook and a blank sheaf of parchment.

"What now?" Cassandra repeated. "We've got our perfect men, I've got my perfect job—"

"If you pass the Auror tests." 

"_When_ I pass the tests. I've got my perfect job, and you'll get rich without doing any work."

"Am not! This takes a lot of—"

"Whatever. I'm serious. We've got everything we've ever wanted, and we're not even twenty. What now?"

"Well, you and Sirius will get married. And so are Lily and James. Probably in some nauseatingly sentimental ceremony."

"And what about you and Remus?" What will you do?"

"We're fine the way we are. Moony and I don't need that stuff. We don't need some pompous wizard to tell us that we're in love."

Cassandra—a great believer in all things traditional—tried to steer the conversation away from Patricia's more peculiar ideas. "How come you call Remus Moony like Sirius, James, and Peter do?"

Patricia's smirk spoke volumes. "Because you don't _want_ to know what I call him in private."

"Excuse me while I vomit."

"Exactly"

* * *

"So, Moony, I had no clue you were such a stud," Sirius said, shoulders shaking with laughter.

Two spots of color burned high on Lupin's cheeks. Unlike the rest of them, he _knew_ what the nickname was. He really did not want any of them to guess. "Shut up."

"Pass me the dustbin," said Ron, urgency in his eyes. Apparently he had received the gift of an active imagination. Poor Ron.

* * *

Patricia thought that her writing had two main strengths. However, these two strengths were also her two main weaknesses. When she needed to get a point across, she could focus on it to the exclusion of all else. Sometimes, though, this made her seem overbearing and obnoxious. Also, she could see connections between everything, enabling her to draw many astute conclusions. Except that she tended to ramble. Her finest moment was when she was writing about early broomstick travel and let her mind drift. Three and a half feet later, she was on the subject of ravioli.

Despite the huge sections of random rambling and overstating of some points that she crossed out of each chapter, the book was going well for Patricia. She had completely abandoned her idea of revising Madam Bagshot's _A History of Magic_ and decided to write a competing textbook entirely her own. She thought the title was very creative.

"_Magic: The History_?" Cassandra asked skeptically.

"No."

"That's what you just said."

Patricia rolled her eyes. "It's not like _Hogwarts, A History_, where there's the same emphasis on every syllable. You have a dramatic pause after 'Magic,' and sort of lower your voice and stretch out the end, like '_Magic…The Hisssssstory_.' A cymbal clash is optional, but encouraged."

"You'll have to put that on the dust jacket."

Patricia pouted. "Moony liked it."

"When are you marrying him?" This issue was coming up more and more often, and was beginning to drive a wedge between the two women, who had been best friends since they were eleven.

Patricia shrugged. "Sometime. Maybe never. It doesn't matter. We're happy the way we are."

* * *

Harry was shaking the diary again.

"Don't tell me _more _pages are gone," said Ginny.

Harry sighed. "Yeah. Not as many as last time, but still a bunch."

Sirius and Lupin exchanged a glance. "Well," said Sirius. "One thing led to another, and they just…stopped being friends. They were both so passive-aggressive about it, and claimed it was because they were both devoting so much time and energy to work and never got to see each other—"

"But that was total nonsense," Lupin finished.

"So what _did_ happen?" six voices demanded.

The men shifted uncomfortably. Neither wanted to speak and implicate themselves. Lupin looked at Sirius, waiting for him to speak first. Sirius looked back, waiting for the same thing. Lupin sighed heavily. He looked shabbier and more world-weary than Harry had ever seen him.

"Essentially, it came down to a ring."

"I proposed," said Sirius.

"And I didn't," Lupin said bitterly. "I should have. I knew she wanted me to, despite all her 'we don't need any of that,' talk. But I waited. And now it's too late."

"But surely you don't still _want _to!" Fred exclaimed in disgust. "She was a bloody Death Eater! And she offed your best friend's fiancée!"

Lupin's face appeared to collapse in on itself. A hooded and cloaked elephant wandered into the room. It had been so easy to become caught up in Patricia's antics and forget her eventual fate. They all wondered silently, not daring to say it aloud: did the diary describe her falling-in with Voldemort's lot, how someone so close to the Order could have turned on them so viciously? Harry sought what had happened to her. It would enlighten the _why_ of his parents: betrayal by another Order member close to them. Was it a lust for power, Harry wondered, or was it fear? Or some other, more convoluted, reason that drove Wormtail and Patricia to Voldemort? Only the diary would tell.

* * *

The Earl of Liechtenstein hadn't looked so happy in nearly a year.

Patricia was instantly suspicious. "Have you been sneaking extra owl treats?" she asked severely. "'Cause if you are—"

* * *

"Whoa whoa whoa," George interrupted Harry. "I want to hear about her going over to Voldemort and going on a killing spree, not about some dumb owl."

Lupin's face was hard and pinched. He knew what was coming. "We'll get there when we get there. Can't you give her this last happiness?"

George rolled his eyes, and Lupin looked so fierce that Harry feared a fight would break out in his bedroom. He resumed reading in a loud voice.

* * *

"'Cause if you are, you'll end up fat and ugly like _that _one." She jerked her thumb at a cage across the room, where an ancient owl—who was indeed fat and ugly—sat, watching them with huge yellow eyes.

"Hey!" Remus' raised voice carried from the next room of their flat. "You'd better not be insulting Proudfoot!"

"Your owl is fat and ugly," Patricia taunted, then, forgetting both Remus and Proudfoot, returned to the matter of why the Earl of Liechtenstein looked so self-satisfied. He offered his leg, and she untied the letter there that she had missed earlier. The envelope said only, 'Patricia.'

The letter fluttered from Patricia's nerveless fingers as she slid to the floor.

Her thud brought Remus at a run. In those dark times, everyone feared the worst. He was afraid, deathly afraid, that the thud had been her falling corpse.

"What is it, Patricia? What's wrong?"

Patricia, still unable to speak, pointed. She had recognized the handwriting on the envelope.

Remus picked up the letter, unsure of its significance.

"Open it." Her voice was the merest whisper.

_Dear Patricia,_

_It sounds so weird saying that. All formal. We've never been formal with each other, not from the moment an eleven-year-old me marched over to you after Transfiguration and announced that you were my new best friend. I'll never forget the look on your face…_

_Which is why it's so odd saying "Dear Patricia" at the beginning of a letter to you, like you're my batty old Granny and I'm writing you a thank-you letter for the birthday present of the mismatched socks._

_You know, it's been so long since we communicated at all, aside from the necessary niceties that come from being Sirius and Remus' significant others, that writing you should feel odd, but it feels natural. More natural than my life has been for a long time._

_I love Sirius with all my heart, but I can't live on Sirius alone. You are my best friend, no matter how long it's been. I miss you so deeply that words can't even express it._

_I remember our graduation afterparty. Both of us had put away what seemed like barrels of firewhiskey, just because we could. You used to claim that you were Irish and had, "the alcohol tolerance of the __**gods**__," but your heritage was not apparent that morning. I claimed that I had been sneaking into the Hog's Head from midway through fourth year, even though you knew this was totally baloney. If anyone else had seen me that morning, they, too, would have known what a liar I was. I remember at breakfast the next morning, all we had to do was look at each other and groan in unison. Everything else was understood—that you'd tell nobody that I'd lied about the Hog's Head, and if I made one crack about leprechauns, I'd be hexed badly._

_That was my favorite part of our friendship. The effortlessness. How we both just _knew_. That's the part I miss most._

_What I'm trying to say is that I want it back. I'll do anything you want. No more snippy remarks about you and Remus, no more flashing my ring, no more "thinking out loud" about the effectiveness of contraceptive potions. I realize now how wrong _that_ particular topic was. It's your life, Patricia. Live it how you want. I was an idiot for even trying to meddle. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I would like to ask anyway._

_Dinner, tonight, the Leaky Cauldron (only because it's a wide-open place, and known to be Order-sympathetic)? Just us?_

_I want my best friend back._

_Love,_

_Cassandra_

"You're going," said Remus, tolerating no protest.

Patricia tried anyway. "But—"

"You're _going_." Remus knelt down next to her and took her face in his hands. "Don't try and say that we need you. Proudfoot, the Earl, and I can manage for one night. Go. Get your best friend back."

Patricia tried again. "But—"

This timed Remus silenced her with a kiss. Nothing passionate, just a peck. His eyes burned into hers. When he drew his lips back, she whispered, "I'm going."

"Good girl." Remus kissed her properly, then.


End file.
